#AmericanWriters
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered!
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
I was so sick last night I Didn’t hardly know my mind. So sick last night I Didn’t know my mind. I drunk some bad licker that
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
'Me an’ ma baby’s Got two mo’ ways, Two mo’ ways to do de Charleston!… Da, da, Da, da, da!
In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper
When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar